Ad Sororem E. B.

CONTENTS

“Thy father was transfused into thy blood.”

Dryden: Ode to Mrs. Anne Killigrew.

Our father works in us, The daughters of his manhood. Not undone Is he, not wasted, though transmuted thus, And though he left no son.

Therefore on him I cry To arm me: “For my delicate mind a casque, A breastplate for my heart, courage to die, Of thee, captain, I ask.

“Nor strengthen only; press A finger on this violent blood and pale, Over this rash will let thy tenderness A while pause, and prevail.

“And shepherd-father, thou Whose staff folded my thoughts before my birth, Control them now I am of earth, and now Thou art no more of earth.

p. 8“O liberal, constant, dear! Crush in my nature the ungenerous art Of the inferior; set me high, and here, Here garner up thy heart.”

p. 8

Like to him now are they, The million living fathers of the War— Mourning the crippled world, the bitter day—  Whose striplings are no more.

The crippled world! Come then, Fathers of women with your honour in trust; Approve, accept, know them daughters of men, Now that your sons are dust.

p. 9LENGTH OF DAYS to the early dead in battle

p. 9

to the early dead in battle

There is no length of days But yours, boys who were children once. Of old The past beset you in your childish ways, With sense of Time untold!

What have you then forgone? A history? This you had. Or memories? These, too, you had of your far-distant dawn. No further dawn seems his,

The old man who shares with you, But has no more, no more. Time’s mystery Did once for him the most that it can do:  He has had infancy.

And all his dreams, and all His loves for mighty Nature, 

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